Snow
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Written for a tumblr prompt: Phyllis and Joseph are caught out by the weather during their trips to York.


**Written for another fantastic tumblr prompt: what if when they are looking for the pub Bates went to they get snowed in York and it's the old cliche of only one room. Molesley wants to be a gentleman but Baxter has other ideas.**

**Hope you like it. x**

"Neither of us asked for this to happen, but we have to make the best of it."

She told him this, watching his face carefully. She was sitting in the chair by the dressing table and he was perched uncomfortably at the foot of the double bed, not looking at her. But he did nod.

"I know," he told her, "You're right. I'm sorry," he added after a moment, "I'm not making this any easier."

"I don't mind," she told him gently, "I'm fine, if you are. This doesn't have to be difficult, you know. We're snowed in and no one can say that it's our fault. You are alright, being here with me, aren't you?"

He looked at her, his face more calm now than the last time he had looked her in the face, giving her half a smile.

"Of course I am," he replied.

She stood up, putting her bag down on the dressing table, taking off her hat and gloves and then resting her coat over the back of the chair.

"Give me your jacket," she told him, "And I'll hang it up in the wardrobe."

"Do you think he believed us?" he asked her, handing over his coat.

"Who?" she asked, "Mr. Carson?"

"No," he replied, looking freshly horrified; he had obviously forgotten about that extremely awkward conversation in a public phone box as they explained their predicament, "Do you think the fellow on the desk believe we were married?"

She raised her eyebrows and exhaled a low breath, closing the wardrobe door.

"Almost certainly not," she replied.

"It's alright," she told him, as he gave a low groan, "They'll be used to it here. Not everywhere has separate corridors for men and women, you know."

She sat down beside him on the bed, looking delicately at his hunched posture. A frown spread across her brow when he did not straighten up.

"Is it the thought of being here in an inn with me that upsets you," she asked the back of his head, "Or is it just how the whole thing might look when we go home tomorrow?"

He gave a sigh, and, to her relief, sat up, turning to look at her.

"It's not you," he murmured softly, meeting her eyes.

She gave him a weak smile.

"Well, that's good to hear," she replied.

He returned the smile, and there was silence for a few long moments.

"So I take it you haven't been stuck in an inn with a woman over night before?" she asked, allowing a little grin to quirk on her lips, leaning back a little, her palms stretched back and flat against the bed.

"No, I have not," he told her firmly, then, after a moment's thought, "Why, have you?"

She smiled again.

"Not with a woman," she told him.

"I mean with a man," he replied.

Another quirk of her eyebrows.

"Well, I've never made it as far afield as an inn," she answer.

"Oh," he replied, "Right."

They sat for a few moments at the foot of the bed, their shoulders almost touching. This was unexpected, and awkward, to say the least. This was, at any rate, earlier than she'd expected to find herself alone in a bedroom with him. Yes, he had taken her hand a few times, helping her on and off the York train, and held on for longer than normal and one evening, as they parted in the empty servants hall, she had given him a kiss on the cheek. The was the one time she'd allowed herself to express her feelings in a physical way and it had been soft, and tender and over so fleetingly, and now they were here-

He stood up, breaking her lapse into the memory.

"I'll see if there's a spare blanket in the wardrobe," he told her.

"Why?" she asked.

"Well, I'd rather not just sleep on the bare floor," he told her.

"Can't you just sleep in the bed?" she asked him.

"You'll be sleeping there," he told her, consulting the supplies, finding nothing.

She sighed. She could see where this was going.

"It's very gallant of you," she assured him, "But you'll freeze. My honour's not worth that. Particularly not when I'm already in this room alone with you. Where you sleep isn't going to make any difference."

He still looked wary, and she was reminded of what a hard job she'd had persuading him that it was alright for them to share a room in the first place. It took, almost, a reminder of the fact that the streets were covered in snow to convince him to take the one room that the innkeeper had left to offer.

"Only if you're alright, with me sleeping in the same bed as you," he asked her.

"Of course I'm alright," she told him.

When he still looked unsure, she went on; "Honestly, Joseph. If there's a man on this earth I'd feel safe sharing a bed with, then it's you. I promise, I'd tell you if I didn't."

He looked a little uneasy, but she was convicted that she had pacified him when he sat back down on the bed beside her.

"I just… want to know that you're alright about this," he told her softly, sincerely, turning around to look at her, "That's all."

Something about the concern and honesty in his eyes overwhelmed her, they were so _him_, that they seemed to bring forth the truth out of her too.

"I know," she replied, "And trust me, you are the one man I'd want in this bed beside me."

There was an intense silence. He was looking at her as if he could not quite comprehend what she'd just said.

"Are you alright being here with me?" she asked him gently.

"Yes," the word slipped softly out of his mouth, but he said no more.

She smiled, feeling a little strained.

"You could sound a little more convincing," she murmured softly.

He looked at her almost a little sharply, taken aback by her remark.

"Of course I'm alright to be here with you," he told her, "I just, don't want to say the wrong thing-…"

"Like what?" she asked him, frowning.

He looked away from her.

"Joseph?" she asked him softly, "It's only me you know. Tell me. What are you frightened you're going to say?"

"I don't know," he replied, "Probably something about how I've wanted to be with you like this for a long time, but now it's all gone wrong because it's too soon and we haven't talked about it, and you won't want it and-…."

"Joseph, for heaven's sakes, slow down!" she told him, "What do you mean, it's too soon?"

She had a fair idea but she wanted him to say it.

"You know," he replied, uneasily, "For us to be together, alone, at night."

She smiled a little. Perhaps that was as near to confirmation as it was reasonably for her to expect at the moment.

"And what on earth do you mean," she asked, "I wouldn't want it?"

He blinked unsteadily at her, but she continued to stare at him until he answered her.

"Well-…" he began slowly, and, when her silence did not relent, "What would someone like you want with me?"

She let out a sigh.

"I want to love you, Joseph," she told him simply, "If you'll let me."

There was a silence.

"And that's what I don't understand," he said at last, "Why you'd want to."

"Listen," she told him firmly, taking ahold of his hands "I love you, Joseph Molesley. Because you're kind and you're good and your clever and faithful and-… I've never met a man who I've wanted to love so much as you. And there you are," her voice strained a little as she spoke, "Asking me if I'm alright because we're in an inn alone together. Of course I'm alright, I'm with you! Being with you makes be feel better, always."

His head was bowed, and he was silent. She did not realise that he was crying until he look up at her.

"What's wrong?" she murmured, frightened that he hadn't wanted to here that she had said, still clasping his hand all the more tightly.

"I love you too, Phyllis," he told her.

She closed her eyes in relief.

"Kiss me, Joseph," she asked him, "Please."

He pressed his lips carefully to hers and she groaned quietly, opening her mouth, encouraging him to deepen the kiss. She smiled against his mouth, her hands cupping his face softly. She was glad to see that his tears had stopped by the time they broke apart.

"So will you sleep in this bed with me?" she asked him, her hands falling into his again.

He paused for half a second, and she sighed.

"I know what you're thinking," she told him softly, "You won't be taking advantage of me, whatever we do tonight. Because I want it. You're not the only one who has thought about what this might be like."

He blinked at her.

"Really?"

She smiled.

"Of course not," she told him, "You dear sweet man," brushing her thumb gently against his cheek again.

Carefully, slowly, she shuffled back towards the centre of the bed. And then, raising her hands, she began undoing the buttons on the front of her dress, her eyes never leaving his.

"I want you," she told him quietly, "If you want me."

The buttons pulled apart, exposing the lace of her brassiere before he crumbled. He was in the centre of the bed with her, his hands on her lips, his lips on hers. They kissed heatedly, falling back to lie together on the bed, their legs tangling with one another, their hands struggling to keep unbuttoning the front of her dress, and then his shirt. Her hand was on the front of his trousers, gently stroking his length through the fabric, and he gasped. She pulled her lip in between her teeth, biting back a grin. Her place skin was flushed with kisses, her collarbone jutting at a graceful curve under his thumb, as he slipped his thumbs under the straps of her brassiere. She pulled his body against hers as it came off and she heard him gasp.

"Oh my love," she whispered, smiling as he gasped again, her hand down the front of his trousers.

"Phyllis," he murmured.

His head bowed, watching her breasts, leaning forwards to kiss them very tentatively at first, encouraged by her response as she murmured her appreciation. His hand brushed the curve of her hip, bowing between her legs, rubbing her gently, giving her pleasure almost hesitantly.

They made love quickly, and then again- when they woke in the night- slowly, tenderly, him pushing deep inside her with every thrust, kissing her neck and collarbone, it was sensual and romantic. And then again in the early hours, fast, hard, emphatic, promising that this would not be the last.

Outside it had stopped, and everything was cold and quiet and clear. The stillness surrounded them as they made love over and over, the silence as they called out one another's names, the warmth of each other's bodies and the little room cradling from the frost.

They left hand in hand in the morning.

**Please review if you have the time. **


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